


Safe to Shore

by colorfulCheshire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulCheshire/pseuds/colorfulCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had thought that maybe, just maybe, death would free you from those other parts of you that you really didn't want anymore, thought that maybe, it would kill that hollow pang in your pump-biscuit, too.  Sleep still doesn't come easy, and you always feel like you're on the verge of drowning.</p><p>Where did all your miracles go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe to Shore

You had _hoped_ that your first night back the recooperacoon would go well.  It had been two sweeps since younger you had realized that soper’s calming abilities were far more effective when ingested,  and something quiet in the back of your mind told you that normal use just wasn’t going to work anymore.  You can’t remember the day-terror that turned you away from the original use of the slime, but maybe that was for all the better.

Even now, in this miraculous dream bubble ( _motherfucking PRISON_ ), you can feel that familiar sludge creeping past the weak barrier of soper-haze around you.  You’re a bit frightened, but you can’t for the motherfucking death of you remember why you should be.  You’ve always felt like these voices just didn’t roll with your normally-calm demeanor, but your miracle dessert had kept them at bay for so long that you almost embrace the buzzing rattling around in your thinkpan, just for the sake of novelty and going with the flow.  Besides, you don’t particularly mind that the buzzing drowns out the familiar hum of soper that usually numbs your thoughts.  _Almost_ embrace, though, because with the buzzing comes a sudden and wicked motherfucking pounding that assaults your skull.

_‘they're all against you, all laugh at the messiahs. MOTHERFUCKING BLASPHEMY. they need to pay. BRING THE DARK MOTHERFUCKING CARNIVAL.’_

You’re regretting allowing the sludge in now. You realize that you’re on a cliff looking over these black motherfucking waters, and while you know you’re going to fall, you’ve forgotten how legs work, or even how to turn around.  You can’t move.  How did you even get here?  How long have these waters been calling you, calling you home to the dangerous depths below where the blood pounding in your head knows it belongs?  Have you really been standing up here alone this whole time? Did you really never have anyone?

_‘no one. motherfucking no one. not good enough for motherfucking sea-bitches. TOO FUCKING HIGH FOR MOTHERFUCKING LOWBLOODS. motherfucking get rid of them.’_

No, right?  You’re not supposed to want this.  What about your . . . your . . . Who are they again?

_‘no one.  no one.  NO ONE.  no one’s motherfucking there.’_

Then what do you do?  All there is around you is red.  The pounding is louder, painful.

_‘motherfucking SCREAM!’_

Honk.

_‘honk.  HONK. honk. HONK. honk.’_

**_hOnK!_ **

You open your mouth, but you can’t scream, can’t breathe.  It’s full of water.  When did you fall from your cliff?

_‘swim.  MOTHERFUCKING SWIM, HIGHBLOOD.’_

You struggle and thrash against the black waters.  Your horns strike the inside walls of your prison and you feel it down to your skull.  It hurts like a motherfucker, but not as much as the motherfucking clubs in your thinkpan.  Honking, pounding – everything’s frantic and you need to motherfucking get out, breathe, scream.

You reach out, but in what direction?  Is it up toward that lonely cliff all over again, or are you reaching to the miraculous depths below where you belong?  Whatever the destination, you thrash your limbs in that direction.

And suddenly there is a hand on your wrist.  You grab the motherfucker, claws digging into heat and drawing blood.  You struggle against it, grabbing the attached arm with your free hand, not sure whether you want to pull yourself wherever they are, or bring them thrashing into this limbo with you.  They pull you toward them, grasping your wrist firmly despite your claws slicing through their skin.

You’re in the air suddenly, warm soper dripping from your skin and hair.  You open your mouth to motherfucking _scream_ when you finally register a concerned voice calling your motherfucking name.  You open your eyes, expecting with dread to be right back on that motherfucking cliff, ready to fall all over again, but all you see through the haze of sleep is the worried expression of your best bro.  He calls your name again, tugging your arm.  Tavbro isn’t all that strong compared to your wicked strength and with your mind stunned to an unusual silence, you help him pull you out, your rage quelled in your shock.

You’re on the ground now, and Tavbro, this miraculous little mother fucker, is ignoring those cuts down one arm and is all up and in your space, asking questions you can’t hear at the moment and checking you over as if you were the motherfucker that was up and bleeding all over the floor.

He’s in your face now, eyebrows scrunched in worry as he tries to catch your attention from wherever the fuck it’s all wandering about.  You must look a hella awful because Tavbro frowns and with unsure arms, reaches out to pull you close, his warmth embracing you like the most miraculous blanket ever.

You didn’t realize how heavily you were breathing until you feel his sturdy frame against you, and it leaves you shaking.  The shock of what just happened, a motherfucking fall from yourself, hits you and you find yourself clinging tightly to the troll in front of you, burying your face against his shoulder as your jagged breathing begins to steady.

You’re scared, something unusual for this motherfucker, and you have no idea what’s going to up and happen to you.  Something’s all sorts of jacked up inside of your thinkpan and you’re not as chill as you motherfucking want to be.

You breathe, taking in Tavbro’s warmth.  You realize he didn’t up and pull you back to that lonely cliff way up there, and as you feel your breathing level out to his pace, you all sorts of _know_ you’re not drowning, at least for now - not that you ever want to be.  No, this miraculous motherfucker pulled you out of the water, to a safe zone, to the familiarity and safety of shore, of home.

You don’t know why there’s motherfucking tears making themselves ready to up and spill from your eyes, but then you’re not the kind of motherfucker to be seeking answers to these miracles, are you?  Eyes hot and heavy with a weight you’re all sorts of unaccustomed to, you sit there and cling to your best of bros.  He’s brought you to shore and for once, there’s no haze protecting you and clouding your eyes.  Now why in the hell would you want to let go of that motherfucking miracle right now?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome! Tell me what you liked (or didn't like) and I might be more inclined to keep that aspect as I continue this little series that's starting on my hard-drive. It helps me know what to focus on in writing! I don't bite (hard).


End file.
